


don't confess none of your sins

by lilithqueen



Category: Obsidian and Blood - Aliette de Bodard
Genre: Age Difference, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Breaking Celibacy Vows, Drinking, Hand Jobs, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Making Out, Morning After, bad decisions made while kinda drunk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-26
Updated: 2020-10-28
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:55:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27214510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilithqueen/pseuds/lilithqueen
Summary: Teomitl shows up in Acatl's courtyard one night - late, still wearing most of his noble finery, and carrying a jug of illegal pulque. He makes Acatl an offer.Acatl snaps in the best way.pt 2: Teomitl goes after what he wants (Acatl's dick).
Relationships: Acatl/Teomitl (Obsidian and Blood)





	1. nights avoiding things unholy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Bleed_Peroxide](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bleed_Peroxide/gifts).



> title: [follow me down - the pretty reckless](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hFCUYuQRsN8)

Teomitl was in his courtyard. For a long moment, all Acatl could manage to do was stare at him, the image stubbornly refusing to compute in his head. This late at night, this early in the morning, Teomitl should absolutely be at home sleeping off the banquet they’d been forced to attend, instead of sprawled lazily under Acatl’s cedar tree with his eyes gleaming. He was still wearing much of his finery, though he’d had the sense to wash the paint from his face and switch out his gold-hemmed cape for a plainer one. Acatl, still in his own regalia with his skull mask tied to his belt, felt overdressed and off-balance in comparison.

He dragged his eyes up from where they’d settled somewhere around Teomitl’s broad shoulders. “Hello, my student who does not live here.”

Teomitl shrugged carelessly, which didn’t help. There was a faint, hazy smile hovering around the corner of his mouth. “...I wanted to see you.”

“You saw me at the banquet.” It seemed inadequate. They’d both been at the banquet, but there hadn’t been a chance to exchange more than long-suffering nods. Teomitl had been sitting with his brothers, smiling tightly at whatever they’d been saying; once or twice Acatl was sure he’d seen a pleading look thrown his way, but his own irritation at their seating arrangements hadn’t left him with much ability to effect an intervention. Quenami had been particularly annoying with his regrettable tendency to open his mouth and have words come out.

Teomitl waved a dismissive hand. “I saw you sitting between Acamapichtli and Quenami, trying not to knock their heads into the soup bowls. That doesn’t count.” He bit his lip, looking suddenly shy. “I thought you could use some cheering up after that.”

Something fluttered traitorously in his chest. He hadn’t thought Teomitl would notice, never mind _care._ The boy had his own worries, surely, even if he disliked the other High Priests nearly as much as Acatl did. _And here he is, thinking about me._ “And you think you can do that?”

Long lashes flickered as Teomitl looked up at him, smug as a well-fed jaguar, and Acatl had to swallow roughly as he nodded at him. “Mm.”

He took a breath, willing himself to stay calm even as the breeze brought the faint scents of the banquet back to him—incense, perfume, spiced food. That hazy smile was back, and it was wreaking serious havoc on his nerves. Sternly, he reminded himself that Teomitl was his student, a youth of imperial blood, a proud young warrior—and that he, Acatl, should absolutely _not_ be noticing the light in his eyes. Besides which, Teomitl really had some gall to invite himself in like that. “...How?”

Teomitl grinned at him, fast and bright and wicked; he was so dazzled by it that he almost missed the rustle of fabric as Teomitl reached under his cloak to pull out a stoppered jar. Expertly, he popped the lid off, and the smell of strong pulque hit Acatl like a fist. “I brought this.”

Acatl stared. For a fleeting moment he wished desperately that he was sitting down, the better to absorb the shock. “...Are you _drunk?”_ It came out in a squawk. ‘Scandalized’ was too mild a word—for a nobleman or a priest to be drunk in public meant death, and even in private the punishments would be severe. How Teomitl had managed to make it all the way to his courtyard undetected was a mystery he didn’t want to solve. _And as for why...to cheer me up? Really, Teomitl? Reckless—irresponsible—have I taught you nothing?_ He firmly tamped down the part of his mind that also seemed to be finding it touching.

It was made more difficult by the fact that Teomitl—who, now that he looked with a discerning eye, _was_ a tad flushed—was frowning at him as though he’d had the nerve to take offense. “I am not! I think…” He studied the jar for a moment. “I _might_ be a little tipsy. But I am not drunk. I think I’d be much more wobbly on my feet if I were drunk.”

He turned his face away, folding his arms across his chest and hating himself for being unable to repress the smile that was making its treacherous way across his lips. It was hard to stay angry in the face of such sincerity. “Hmph. I should confiscate that.”

Teomitl cocked his head like a bird. “Are you going to?” He didn’t sound particularly worried by the prospect.

“...No.” He should. He _knew_ he should. But Teomitl was looking up at him, and he was weak.

And now he was smiling knowingly and raising the jar to his lips. “Oh. Good.”

Knowing it was a bad idea even as he did it, Acatl made a terrible decision. “But if you’re going to drink that, you’ll do it inside.” _Where nobody except me will see you, and I’ll never tell._

“Mmm,” Teomitl murmured.

But he didn’t move, and so Acatl crossed the distance between them and held out a hand. “Come on— _oh.”_ Teomitl was hauling himself to his feet with a worrying sway; instinctively Acatl reached to steady him, and for a dizzying moment all his world narrowed to the feel of the man in his arms. He was deliciously warm, muscles like stone under the soft cotton of his cloak, and when he half-leaned against his shoulder the scent of alcohol burned through Acatl’s lungs.

He exhaled, trying to force his head to clear. At least _one_ of them should be sober. Sober and focused and not—not _enjoying_ this, _gods. He’s my student. He’s not for me. I have to remember that._

Teomitl seemed determined to make it hard. His voice was a teasing huff in Acatl’s ear. “I can walk, you know. But if you want to carry me, I wouldn’t mind. Just don’t spill the pulque!”

He took a breath, pushing down his sudden awareness of his own heartbeat. “Let’s just go in.”

Teomitl’s assessment of his own state turned out to be surprisingly accurate; though he wouldn’t be making any sudden movements, he was still steady enough on his feet to follow Acatl into the darkness of the house. The moonlight streaming through the window caught the edge of a high cheekbone and the curve of his mouth, and Acatl couldn’t look away from him as he murmured, “You’re right. This is much better.”

And then he sat down on the mat, tugging Acatl down with him before he could pull away. Acatl made a noise he refused—even in the privacy of his own head—to term a _squeak_ as he hit the ground, managing at least to arrange himself into a vaguely dignified sitting position. An objection hovered on the tip of his tongue, only to flee in the next heartbeat along with his thoughts.

Teomitl pressed against him from shoulder to hip, bare skin like a brand where it met Acatl’s. It was just possible to make out the motion of one hand lifting the jar of pulque to his mouth; the sound of his swallowing sounded very loud in the stillness. It was almost a shock when he hummed contentedly and breathed, “I don’t know about you, but _I’m_ happy.”

“You.” He wet his lips and tried again. Teomitl’s fingers were just barely brushing against his thigh, and his veins felt like they were on fire. “I’m sure that’s just the pulque talking.”

Reeds crackled lightly under the weight as Teomitl shifted; it was all the warning he got before a head came to rest on his shoulder and Teomitl’s voice sounded from just under his ear. There was no trace of a slur to it, but the purring drawl was somehow worse. “Maybe it is. _Maybe._ But I don’t think so. I think it’s because I’m here with you.”

Acatl inhaled, closing his eyes. It didn’t help; the air was full of the mingled scents of alcohol and Teomitl’s skin, and with his eyes shut there was no distraction from how close they were. His blood thrummed relentlessly through his veins. _Stop. Stop saying things like that, Teomitl. You make me want what I shouldn’t._ “It’s the pulque. Trust me. You’ll regret this in the morning.” He set a hand on Teomitl’s arm, intending to put space between them, but something in his brain seemed to be confused at this very simple objective because he wound up squeezing lightly at his bicep instead. Teomitl really had _very_ nice arms.

“Hmm.” It was a thoughtful sort of sound; when he looked into Teomitl’s face, he found him smirking wickedly. “I might regret drinking. But I won’t regret this.”

He swallowed, dropping his hand. “Regret—what?”

“Getting to see you like this.” Teomitl’s voice was hushed, as though he shared a great secret, but his eyes were alight with what _could not_ be desire. “You are very... _very_ handsome, Acatl-tzin.”

“I am _what.”_ His voice cracked midsentence, making his face flame, but it was a drop in the ocean compared to the pulse-pounding heat of Teomitl’s words in his ears.

There was a hand on his knee, scattering his thoughts. Teomitl lowered his voice to the barest whisper. “You really have no idea what seeing you in your regalia does to me, do you? It’s devastating.”

 _Empty flattery,_ came his first reaction, but he knew he was lying to himself even as the words crossed his mind. Teomitl was never anything but honest, and it knocked the air from his lungs. _He’s drunk_ —but that was a lie, too. He knew he should move—should pull away, take the rest of the pulque from Teomitl’s hands, put the boy to bed and make sure he’d be alright in the morning—but he was frozen to the mat. “Ngk,” he said intelligently.

The hand slid slowly, inexorably upwards, scorching a path over his skin. Where fingers curled around to the soft skin of his inner thigh, he could feel callouses where no one had ever touched him before. All awareness of anything else in the room faded away; there was only this hand on him, Teomitl’s solid presence the weight at the center of his world. Then the sloshing of an open jar caught his attention, and he registered that Teomitl was holding it out to him with a hot little smile. “Want some, Acatl-tzin? It’s quite good.”

 _I shouldn’t. I absolutely should not. But…_ But there was Teomitl all but draped over him, shamelessly roaming fingers starting to trace a meaningless pattern on his thigh, and his heart was hammering frantically against his ribcage. Only his own reflexively clenched fists were stopping him from—well. He wasn’t sure what he would do if he started touching Teomitl in return, but he knew it was something he wouldn’t come back from. He wasn’t sure it was something he’d _want_ to come back from. _I am High Priest of Lord and Lady Death. I am a servant of the gods, a keeper of the boundaries. And I…_

Warm hands. A sunny smile. A body that moved like a jaguar through his mind when he closed his eyes to sleep. The knowledge that this was something he could never have, as untouchable as the heavens.

He snatched the jar from Teomitl’s hand and took a swig.

It burned. It _burned,_ and he almost choked, but he made himself swallow anyway. The sensation faded from his mouth and tongue after a moment, but he could still feel it burning on its way down his throat. He took a breath and felt dizzy, but he wasn’t sure if that was the pulque—surely one sip couldn’t affect him so much?—or something within his own head. _Tizoc-tzin would have me killed for this,_ came the thought in his head. _Drinking with his young, impressionable brother, even in the privacy of my own home? My head would roll before I even had time to put the jar down._ He thought he should probably be more afraid of that, but somehow the fear seemed far away. When he blinked, the world sharpened.

“Do you like it?” Teomitl’s smile was sweet, but his hand was still resting midway up Acatl’s thigh.

He had to clear his throat twice before he could manage words. “I—I do.” Maybe the pulque _was_ hitting him already; his limbs were starting to feel distinctly unreal compared to the anchoring pressure of Teomitl’s hand.

“ _Good_. Oh…” Teomitl tilted his head, eyes sharp. “Hold still.”

He froze.

He stayed frozen as that hand came up, calloused thumb impossibly soft as it brushed against the corner of his mouth. His breath ghosted against it, the only indication that he was in fact still breathing. He could almost taste Teomitl's skin; the boy was smiling at him from entirely too close, voice taking on a teasing lilt as he murmured, “You’ve got something...here.” When he drew back, there was a tiny droplet of pulque clinging to his thumb, and he held Acatl’s gaze as he licked it away.

 _Duality save me,_ he thought, but he knew the Duality wasn’t listening. There wasn’t a god that could help him now. He could feel his own heartbeat in his throat, in his gut, in the first stirrings of shamefully sharp arousal. “Teomitl,” he whispered, wide-eyed. It seemed to be the only thing he could say.

“Doesn’t it taste good, Acatl-tzin?” Teomitl’s tone was almost— _almost_ —innocent, and Acatl might have been fooled if it wasn’t for the wicked smile on his face.

“I…” _He’s enjoying this. Taunting me—no, worse. Toying with me._ His face burned, and he wrenched his gaze away. Arousal be damned, he wouldn’t throw himself after someone who viewed it as a game. “Hrmph.”

Teomitl didn’t seem to notice his irritation. Strong fingers plucked the jar of pulque out of Acatl’s unresisting hands, and he sloshed it about meditatively to check how much was left. “Hmm. I think I’ll have some more.”

He didn’t look. He didn’t want to see. But he could feel the heat of Teomitl’s body still pressed against his side, all lean and solid and strong. They were so close together that he wasn’t sure which of their heartbeats he was feeling, though his own seemed fit to escape his chest. And then he heard Teomitl swallow, and the satisfied near-moan that escaped him pulsed through Acatl’s veins and straight to his cock.

Against all his better judgement, he looked back. Teomitl still had the jar to his lips, head tilted back as he took another long gulp. Moonlight outlined the curve of his cheekbones and the line of his nose, turning his short hair to black ink where it sank into the strands. A thin trickle of pulque was escaping the seal of his mouth, outlining the curve of his throat as it descended. Acatl felt like he’d been punched in the gut. He must have made a sound, because Teomitl cast him a sly, sideways glance as he lowered the jar and wiped his mouth off on his arm.

“I could feel you staring at my drink. You must be thirsty, Acatl-tzin. Want to finish it off?”

 _It’s not the_ _jar_ _I’m staring at._ Not trusting himself to speak, he grabbed the jar and tossed back a mouthful. It burned less this time, settling in his stomach with an unfamiliar warmth. He decided he liked the taste; it was a realization that made him suddenly glad that Teomitl had already drunk most of it, because if Teomitl kept playing with him like he’d been since arriving he would be deeply, deeply tempted to— _drink himself insensate_ was his first thought, but hard on its heels came a mental image that made him almost dizzy. He could do it. Teomitl had called him handsome, had been touching him like _that_ all evening.

 _My student. A member of the imperial family._ But there were fingers tracing the pattern of his cloak, close enough to press over the line of his hip, and all his very good and moral objections blew away like dust in the wind. If he was going to die anyway—and if Tizoc ever found out about this he would _absolutely_ be very dead—he might as well go all the way.

Acatl took another long swallow of pulque, feeling it burn all the way down his throat, and kissed Teomitl on the mouth.

Teomitl’s reaction was immediate and electrifying. Acatl had very little idea what he was doing, but that didn’t seem to matter; Teomitl made the kiss hot and open-mouthed and filthy, his moan reverberating into Acatl’s own mouth. Hands slid under Acatl’s cloak, making their way up his chest and leaving fire behind. _Gods, yes._ Teomitl scraped a thumbnail lightly over one nipple, and he had to break away with a gasp at the new discovery that he _liked_ that.

Teomitl breathed, “Well, _that_ took you long enough,” and Acatl felt something in his head snap.

His muscles knew what he was doing before his brain did; faster than he could think it over, he’d grabbed Teomitl and shoved him down onto the mat, seizing his mouth in a ferocious kiss. Teomitl groaned desperately into it, burying his hands in his hair like a lifeline and scrabbling at the cord holding it back until it spilled over both of them. Now it was his turn to touch, pulling Teomitl’s cloak aside to run his hands over the firm muscles that had been tempting him for months. When he pressed his thumbs in hard enough to bruise just above Teomitl’s hips, he was rewarded with an eager little whine. _He likes it like that. Rough, like that._ His cock throbbed.

Teomitl made a noise that might have been words; when Acatl left his mouth to devote attention to his jaw instead, moving down over his throat, he panted, “You have no idea—how _long_ —ah!”

Encouraged, he scraped his teeth over the same spot again and felt Teomitl arch under him. It sent a shudder down his own spine, and he had to brace himself for a moment with his fist wrapped around a corner of the mat. He was more aroused than he’d ever been in his life. “You,” he growled against Teomitl’s skin, barely recognizing his own voice, “are trying to drive me _mad.”_

Teomitl sucked in a shaky breath, but the grin that flashed across his face was the same bright, confident one that had stolen Acatl’s heart. When he shifted under him, grinding just long enough to tease, it was Acatl’s turn to moan, and the grin took on an edge. “Is it working?” His eyes gleamed hungrily, and Acatl’s pulse pounded.

“What do you think?” He was done dreaming and wanting. Teomitl was offering himself on a silver platter, and he was going to _take._ He grabbed for Teomitl’s rear and hauled their hips together, giving the flesh a thorough squeeze as he reveled in the hard press of Teomitl’s erection against his own. Nails dug into his shoulderblades, the sting making him growl. _Gods, yes. Mark me, mark me, make sure I remember this in the morning._

When he rolled his hips, Teomitl shuddered and writhed in his grasp. “Oh—Acatl- _tzin.”_ The sound of his voice—half-wrecked already as he sobbed his name, and Acatl had barely _done_ anything—sent such a wave of desire through him it was almost painful.

“I.” Words were the hardest thing he’d ever managed in his life, but he managed to get out “I want to _touch_ you,” and Teomitl at least must have understood him because he was surging up, kissing him inexpertly but with great enthusiasm as he worked blindly at the knot holding his own loincloth shut.

There was no graceful way to do this in the dark; Teomitl’s knee knocked painfully into his thigh and a crash from behind them let him know one of them had managed to kick over the pulque jar, but none of that mattered when he was exposed to the night air with Teomitl spread out on his cloak like a feast under him, flushed and hard and looking at him with his heart in his eyes. “Like what you see, Acatl-tzin?”

Acatl kissed him again. It was the only possible response. Teomitl moaned into it; spurred on by the response, he cradled the back of Teomitl’s head with one hand to keep him there while he kissed a trail down his neck. The mark he’d left on the other side might bruise in the morning, but Acatl couldn’t bring himself to care about that. Far more important were the noises Teomitl was making, wordless little cries turning to gasps when he nipped sharply at the skin.

And then, though clearly no less effected, Teomitl found his equilibrium and slid his hands over Acatl’s chest and down to his stomach. He shivered at the sensation, letting out a sound that turned into a moan against Teomitl’s collarbone when fingers found his cock and wrapped firmly around it. Teomitl’s voice was breathlessly smug in his ear. “Mm, do you like that?”

It was _entirely_ different from the scant times he touched himself, but that didn’t make it any less of a shock to his system. Pleasure built slow with each upstroke, making him shudder and rock into it. It took him a moment to realize Teomitl had even asked a question. “Y—yes…”

Teomitl arched in a motion that dragged their cocks against each other, sending sparks up and down his spine. And that clever hand would— _not—stop—working him._ “Mmm, good.” His fingers rippled, and Acatl muffled a groan against his neck that made his voice hitch as he breathed, “I’ve wanted to get my hands on you for so long.”

He still sounded maddeningly composed, and Acatl snarled at it. “Is that why you came here? Tormenting me all night?” _Teasing me. Showing up at my doorstep like that, sharing your pulque, touching me—_ It made his pulse race, and he rolled up and into Teomitl’s hands to claim his mouth again.

When he broke away—he still hadn’t really gotten the hang of remembering to _breathe_ while they kissed—Teomitl huffed out a noise that might have been a laugh. “Maybe. Maybe I wanted to see if you’d— _oh.”_ Acatl had managed to get a hand between them; now he was putting it to good use. Teomitl’s cock was hot and hard and absolutely perfect in his grip, and when he rolled his thumb over the head his whole body shuddered down to his bones.

“If I’d do this?” He stroked harder, and Teomitl thrust into his fist with an inarticulate noise. “Is _this_ how you like it?” Now it was his turn to be relentless. Teomitl’s own ministrations had slowed a bit with this new pleasure, so he could focus on devoting further attention to his lover’s skin—there was a spot just where neck met collarbone that pulled out the sweetest sounds—while he pumped his cock. _I want to feel you fall apart._

When he nipped experimentally at his skin, Teomitl keened and bucked into his grasp, pulling his head down onto his chest. _“Yes.”_ Nails scraped down his back, and he shuddered and redoubled his efforts to hear Teomitl rock into him with desperate little punched-out gasps. He was achingly close, pressure building at the base of his spine, but his lover was more important. He bit down on his collarbone and felt Teomitl jolt, voice cracking with his cry of “Duality, Acatl, don’t _stop_ —“

He sucked in a breath that burned his lungs. “I won’t. _”_ Teomitl was so sweet, so hot, it made his head swim. _I want—_ He had to close his eyes, shuddering. _Gods_ _, I want to wreck you._

He’d worked out a rhythm of twisting his wrist just so, and it must have worked; Teomitl surged under him, fingers raking all the way down his spine and catching in the tangles in his loose hair, and came so hard that he had to muffle a scream with a bite to Acatl’s shoulder. It made his nerves sing; for a dizzying moment he saw white, thought he was about to orgasm, and then Teomitl whispered _“Acatl”_ like an obscene prayer and did something with his wrist and the pad of his thumb that sent him over the rest of the way with a groan.

He nearly collapsed onto Teomitl’s chest, catching himself on his elbows and breathing hard. For a long moment, he couldn’t think. The first thought that made its way through the fog and out of his mouth was a breathless, “Fuck,” which seemed entirely unsuited to the enormity of the situation. Teomitl had removed his hand from his cock, but it lingered gently on his hip as a visceral reminder.

“Nghm.” Teomitl still seemed to be searching for words himself, but the lilting hum and the smirk tugging at his lips suggested that _that_ could easily be a possibility, if Acatl wanted.

He wanted. _Gods,_ he wanted. Sex and alcohol still burned through his veins, desire itching to be sated. But even the thought brought an unpleasant twinge with it that let him know in no uncertain terms that he would, at the very least, need to rest first. He breathed out slowly, shaking his head; with space to think, he realized he was oversensitive and a little sore. He hadn’t thought it was _possible_ to come so hard your stomach hurt, but apparently he’d been wrong.

Then again...he’d been wrong about a lot of things tonight. _Like the likelihood of Teomitl seducing me._ With effort, he found his voice. “We should...clean up.” The sticky mess between them would be unbearably itchy if they didn’t.

“Nghh.” Teomitl did not seem to want to clean up. Or move, for that matter. He let his head fall limply back on the mat, though a hand came up to card through Acatl’s hair. It was a strangely tender gesture. “Later. You wore me out, Acatl-tzin.”

He felt his face flush at the reminder of how he’d acted. Duality, Teomitl would have _marks_ the next morning. So would he, and he could only hope his cloak would hide them. He should apologize, he knew, but he couldn’t make his mouth form the words. _Teomitl came to me. I have nothing to apologize for._ “You’ll know better next time, won’t you?” He only realized what he’d said after the words were already out of his mouth, too late to call them back. _Next time._ Presuming there _was_ a next time, that it wasn’t a spur-of-the-moment fluke brought on by pulque and Teomitl’s teasing touches.

Teomitl’s eyes shone soft in the moonlight, and Acatl’s heart skipped a beat. Then he spoke, light and teasing. “I wasn’t expecting you to be such a jaguar on the mat.”

“ _Teomitl!”_ Acatl glared down at him. The love bites on his throat were already darkening, and it sent a possessive thrill through him. _I did that. And he liked it._ He’d thought he was spent, but if Teomitl kept teasing him… “You _enjoy_ riling me up.”

Teomitl’s grin was sleepily radiant, eyes already fluttering shut. “You like it.”

Irritation drained out of him. He could feel the steady thump of Teomitl’s heartbeat, soothing him to sleep and making something go soft in his chest. _I do. Gods help me, I do._ He heaved a sigh. Cleanup could wait until later; his own bones felt like solid rock. It was far easier to simply roll off Teomitl, curl around him with his head on his shoulder—yes, that was as comfortable as it looked—and let his eyes drift closed.

In the morning, he knew they’d have to talk about this. In the morning, he knew he’d wake up with a head full of regrets and pain. But for tonight, he slept.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> historical fun fact: i did not make up the thing about public drunkenness being a death-penalty offense for the upper echelons of aztec society! acatl would be in super deep shit for this! and also for breaking his vow of chastity, probably. #worthit


	2. now i know that there's a different way to die

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Teomitl gets what he wants.

They did not speak the next morning.

Teomitl woke slowly, head caught in a vice of agony, to find Acatl curled up next to him. He had a vague impression of them having been closer at some point—had there been Acatl’s head on his chest?—but now he was facing away from him, tumbling waves of black hair falling aside to reveal a back marked with long red lines. It made something wrench in Teomitl’s gut. _Right. I did that._ Alcohol was supposed to impair your memories, but his were clear as water. He still saw the room soaked in moonlight when he blinked, Acatl’s eyes dark and hungry above him.

He took a breath, about to say something— _good morning_ or  _I’m sorry_ or  _do you still want to do that again, you mentioned a next time_ —but then Acatl was waking up and shaking his hair off his face, muttering something about needing to clean themselves and dress, and the words died on his lips. The dregs of pulque they’d knocked over the previous night had long since soaked into the floor. 

In the end, he left for the palace without another word. It made his heart ache, but it was easier than talking. Acatl hadn’t even  _looked_ at him while they prepared for their separate days. Even a fleeting glance his way had made his face flush—in anger or shame, Teomitl wasn’t sure which. Either way, it was safer to leave. 

_Does he regret it? Did he not want to?_ Unconsciously, he grazed his throat with his fingertips and felt the tenderness there from Acatl’s teeth. He didn’t need to look to know they had left marks.  _Was it the drink?_

The Sacred Precinct was bustling, but he moved through the crowd like a ghost. His mind was full of Acatl’s mouth on his skin, his hands on his cock, his hair spilling over them both. It had been… He trembled, unable to even find the words in his own head. He’d been dreaming of it or something like it for months, but the Acatl in his dreams had been serious and patient and not—

“ _Is that why you came here? Tormenting me all night?”_

_Tlaloc’s lightning strike me_ _._ Even if—even if there was never a repeat of the night before, he owed Xochipilli at least a dozen parrots. 

“Hey!”

The shout jarred him out of his reverie just as he collided with a priest of Huitzilopochtli escorting the morning’s sacrifice. He winced, shaking his head to clear it, and murmured his apologies before continuing on his way. The palace would have distractions. Food, his other tutors, his brothers and cousins and nephews. Surely once he ate breakfast and had something to occupy himself with, he could banish Acatl’s specter from his mind. Acatl wasn’t thinking about  _him,_ after all. The marks Teomitl had left on him could be easily hidden, and he was certainly  _at this moment_ going about his day with calm dignity and absolutely no evidence of burning eyes or stones lodged in his throat. Teomitl could do the same.

By the time he found something to eat and had settled down in one of his cousins’ courtyards to attempt a game of patolli, the—not  _grief,_ he absolutely was not going to call it  _grief_ —had metamorphosed into a simmering low-grade restlessness. He couldn’t focus on the game; pieces fell from the board, and he obligingly handed over so many gold quills and cacao beans that when he begged off from another round, he looked up to find his nephew Moctezuma frowning suspiciously at him. “Are you alright? You’re never usually this distracted.”

He liked Moctezuma. Though he was three years younger than him, the boy was already a promising warrior and surely had a bright future ahead. There were times, however, when he could be irritatingly curious. “I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine.” His face split in a grin. “Is it that girl you’re courting? The High Priest’s sister?”

Guilt rose hot and vicious in his throat. Never mind what Mihmatini  _thought_ about it—chaperone within earshot at all times or no, she was incredibly perceptive and you could get a lot across with facial expressions and creative hand gestures—the last thing he wanted was to be reminded that he was courting the younger sister of the man he’d just lured onto his mat.  _Not that Acatl seemed to care, with how he practically threw me onto it. I wonder if I can get him to do that again…_

“Message from the Fifth World to Uncle Teomitl?”

He shot to his feet, glowering down at his nephew. “If you have all this energy to spare for things that don’t concern you, you can burn it off by sparring with me.”

“...I’ll go get my practice sword!”

Sparring usually centered him; the racing of his heart and the burn of well-conditioned muscles reminded him that he was alive, that there were simple problems in the world. Though he won the match, leaving them both panting by the end, his mind refused to settle. Moctezuma tried to speak with him afterwards, and that was the last straw. He cut him off with a growl, already turning away. “I’m going to bathe.”

Cold water  _had_ to help. 

It was amazing how much privacy you could get while bathing when you had Jade Skirt as your patron. The constant itching chatter of the ahuizotls in the back of his mind as he stripped and stepped into the little pool was a small price to pay. He closed his eyes, ignoring the strains of their song, and finally— _ finally _ —took the chance to let out a long sigh. The water was cooling his blood already, running in freezing rivulets down his back that felt wonderful on the bruises Acatl had left behind. 

His own hands were warm on his skin, but he still shivered. He’d been angling for a kiss, had known he would be lucky to get a smile; it was hard to wrap his mind around the idea of Acatl wanting him, even with such deliciously clear evidence. _Gods, and what evidence._ Cold or not, arousal thrummed through him at the memory of Acatl’s hands on his hips, gripping in such a way as to spread him open just a bit; it had been a visceral reminder of what he could give him, of what Acatl might even _want. I would have, if you’d asked. Gods, I would give you anything._ He’d imagined it before—there was something about Acatl showing confidence that made him think very strongly of being _filled_ —but last night he thought he might have begged for it, if he’d been able to find the words. 

He bit his lip and remembered the way Acatl had stroked him, remembered the way his voice had shifted to a growl.  _I want him to say my name like that. I want him—Southern Hummingbird strike me down, I want him to fuck me until I can’t walk._

He opened his eyes again on a slow exhale. If he wanted any of that to happen, he’d have to actually talk to Acatl first.  _Without_ the pulque, this time; if he was going to be so shameless again, he didn’t think he’d need alcohol to manage it. Not if Acatl touched him.  _Duality, let him listen. Let him...let him still desire me._

Firmly turning his mind away from the possibility that Acatl  _wouldn’t_ —that he’d have a gallery of perfectly logical reasons why they shouldn’t, why it had been a horrible idea in the first place, why it should be expunged from their memories entirely—he rose from the pool, dried himself off, and went to select one of his less elaborate cloaks. Acatl wouldn’t be impressed by finery; he wasn’t  _him,_ who went a little tongue-tied every time the man put on his skull mask.

He would not, he decided, bring a gift. It felt too much like bribery, though the gods knew Acatl deserved to be covered in gold. Besides, there were sacrifices to deliver to Xochipilli’s temple; for this, he went not to the big one near the calmecac but the smaller, plainer one near the Sacred Precinct’s walls. Though he couldn’t tell if the god looked favorably upon him, Fire Priest Zolin proved gracious. 

...Not to mention refreshingly if embarrassingly frank in giving advice. His face was still burning by the time he reached Acatl’s home, and he took a moment outside the courtyard to pierce his earlobes again and pray for eloquence. He heard movement within and knew Acatl was inside, probably finishing up lunch if he hadn’t forgotten to eat again. Maybe he  _should_ have brought gifts; Acatl was fond of the food the palace kitchens turned out.

But it was too late now. Rolling his shoulders and giving his ears a pinch to stop the flow of blood, he strode into the courtyard.

Acatl was as beautiful as ever. True, he looked tired as he wiped crumbs from his hands, and the little frown lines etched on his face seemed particularly deep, but absolutely none of that detracted from how handsome he was. Teomitl was suddenly glad that their first encounter had been under the cover of darkness; if they’d first kissed in daylight, with the sun sinking into Acatl’s skin, he would have had even less control over himself. He took a deep breath and approached. 

“Acatl-tzin.”

There was no mistaking the blush that swept across his face. For a moment he just blinked at him, speechless, and then he murmured, “Ah. Good afternoon, Teomitl,” with a carefully polite tone that was actually worse than the staring.

He willed his fists not to clench. Getting angry wouldn’t serve him here, even though being addressed so formally after—after all they’d _done_ the night before—made him see red. “Can we talk inside? About...last night.” So there could be no confusion as to what he meant, he tugged his cloak aside so Acatl could see where his mouth had marked him.

Acatl swallowed visibly, eyes darkening. He didn’t say another word, though, until they both stood in the quiet dimness of his house, and even then he seemed barely able to make eye contact. Teomitl couldn’t take his eyes off him. The elegant, long-fingered hands that had wrapped so perfectly around him were distracting enough, but now he knew what the lean body under that cloak felt like, and he wanted to _see._

When Acatl broke the silence, it was like a bucket of icy water down his spine. “Forgive me.”

At first he couldn’t find words, and then they burst forth in outrage from his heart. _“Forgive_ you?! There’s—there’s nothing to forgive, Acatl-tzin.” _Gods, I knew it. I knew he’d have regrets._ Exchanges flashed through his head—all the times had Acatl had indicated his keen awareness of their respective stations, all the times he’d stood unhappily in court while Tizoc sneered. _Is it for the sake of his vows, or because of me?_

“You…” He trailed off, staring at the floor. “You had been drinking. I was—I was rough with you. You are my student, a warrior of imperial blood—I shouldn’t have laid hands on you.”

 _So it’s because of me_ came his first thought, followed by a hard shudder of arousal at the reminder of Acatl being _rough._ The thought that he might never feel that again tinged his question with bitterness. “Is that all you think of me?”

Acatl closed his eyes, turning his face away. His back was straight, but there was a tremor in his voice. “...It’s all I _should_ think of you.”

Suddenly, desperately, he wanted to throw himself into Acatl’s arms. He made himself be still, though the arm’s length between them felt like a chasm. “But do you?”

He shook his head slowly. “No. You haven’t been just my student for a while, Teomitl.” His voice dropped to a whisper as he continued, “Last night I...I could not _believe_ …” He trailed off, face coloring, as one hand drifted up to trace a spot on his shoulder where Teomitl knew he’d sunk his teeth in.

 _Two dozen parrots and five quetzal feathers for you, Flower Prince._ The jar of oil Zolin had pressed into his hands felt heavy at his belt. “I wasn’t drunk, and I think last night made it obvious _you_ aren’t just a teacher to me.” He took a step forward, studying Acatl’s face and finding himself smiling when dark eyes met his. “Unless you’d like a reminder?”

“Gnk.” Acatl’s fingers twitched as though he’d like to reach for him, eyes widening. “Teomitl...”

It wasn’t a _no._ Acatl was staring at him, lips parted, as though he was afraid to come any closer, and so Teomitl closed the distance between them. Another step brought them together, let him settle his hands at Acatl’s waist and pull him in. “Maybe I wasn’t clear,” he whispered. “I care very, very much for you, Acatl-tzin.”

He made a noise like he’d been stabbed. This time, Teomitl kissed him first. His half-formed thought of keeping it chaste, of not scaring Acatl off, went out the window as soon as he felt those lips on his. He deepened it boldly, heard Acatl make an almost surprised sound, and was about to draw back when Acatl’s awkwardly hovering hands slid over his back and crushed them together. He moaned breathlessly when they separated, and Acatl must have liked that noise because he kissed him again. It was intoxicating, worse than the pulque had been.

Even when he spoke, he breathed the words into Teomitl’s mouth. “I should hope so.” One hand ran slowly up Teomitl’s spine, and he shuddered when Teomitl dug his nails into his skin in response.  _“Oh.”_

Teomitl shifted, pressing a thigh against him and reveling at the beginnings of arousal he felt. _He wants me._ It set something fluttering through his chest, and he knew he was flushed as he murmured, “Last night, you mentioned a _next time_. I hope you intend to keep your promise.”

Acatl swallowed. “You still want to…?” Gods, he sounded _hopeful,_ and it made Teomitl’s heart do something painful in his chest.

And then fingers stroked gently down the back of Teomitl’s neck, and he was hard-pressed to push back the sound that wanted to escape. With difficulty, he remembered words. “You heard me.” He sucked in a breath and continued, “You drove me wild last night; I can’t possibly be satisfied by just one time with you. I want a thousand next times, Acatl—but I want more than just your hands on me now.”

He saw the exact moment his words sunk in, saw the way Acatl’s eyes widened. “Oh _gods,”_ he breathed, and then his hand was on Teomitl’s rear and Teomitl hiked a leg around his waist to pull him closer with a hungry and entirely involuntary whine. 

They sank to the floor together. Teomitl wasn’t sure _how;_ his normal awareness of all his limbs seemed to have fled from the moment Acatl had touched him. Once given permission, Acatl wasn’t at all shy—and proved to have an _excellent_ memory for what he’d shown enjoyment of the night before. Teomitl wound up on his back again with Acatl pressing kisses to the marks on his throat, and that was an interesting mix of pleasure and pain—then he bit down, and Teomitl’s whole body jolted. “Fuck!”

“You seemed to like that last time.” Acatl’s voice was rough, his cock a hot line against Teomitl’s hip, but he didn’t move.

 _Waiting for my permission_ , he realized with a rush of emotion. “I do.” His own voice shook; rather than waste breath with words, he surged up to kiss him. Acatl never tied his hair back very tightly—he tried, but it was too thick for that—and so it was a simple matter to bury his hands in it and tug him down. Acatl went willingly, pinning him under his weight, and he made such a sweet noise when Teomitl caught his lower lip between his teeth that he had to draw back a bit for his own equilibrium and rasp out, “Think I’d like anything you do to me.”

Acatl made an inarticulate noise and kissed him again, grinding his hips in a way that made Teomitl arch and grab a fistful of hair as though that would help anchor him. When he broke the kiss, it was only to snarl, “Tell me what you _want,_ Teomitl,” and Teomitl had to take a moment to breathe.

He was so hard it hurt and could feel through their loincloths—which, thin as they were, still put too much fabric in the way—that Acatl was definitely in a similar state. Giving thanks to Xochipilli again, he managed to gasp, “Want you to fuck me—Acatl, _please.”_

Acatl drew in a shuddering breath, eyes squeezing shut. “You are going to _kill me,”_ he growled, and then, “You know I’ve never done this.”

He vaguely recalled Chalchiuhtlicue mentioning that. Even at the time, it had struck him as a terrible shame; now, the idea of being Acatl’s _first_ made something possessive spark to life in his chest. “Neither have I.” He found himself grinning. “But you’re a very diligent man, and I am a fast learner.”

“You’re a _menace,”_ Acatl murmured, but his eyes were gleaming as he said it. A hand skimmed all the way down Teomitl’s flank, sliding under the edge of his loincloth. “You planned this too, didn’t you?”

He nodded, managing to fumble the oil jar from his belt, but then Acatl’s hands were on the knot of his loincloth and he almost dropped it. Stripping was different in the daylight; Acatl was surer when he could see what he was doing, and he seemed to be inclined to take his time. He slid his hands over Teomitl’s chest, his stomach, his thighs; when Teomitl lay bare before him, he did nothing but look for a long moment before breathing, “Duality, you are beautiful.”

Teomitl stretched, arching his back and deliberately spreading his legs a bit wider. He was immensely gratified by Acatl’s indrawn breath, but couldn’t bring himself to meet his eyes when there was so much more to look at. Acatl was stunning in the sunlight, all lean and elegant with the scars from years of battle against creatures of the underworld like shadows on his skin. Teomitl wanted to trace them with his  _tongue._ For the moment however, there were more tempting offerings on display—chief among them Acatl’s cock, flushed and hard. “So are you.”

Acatl shook his head, but then he was running a hand down the inside of Teomitl’s thigh, and the gaze sweeping up his body held an intensity that made him shiver. “How do you want me?”

 _Gods,_ _we’re_ _going to do this._ Calloused fingers had reached the seam of his hip, making him shiver. “Like this. I want to see your face.”

He could actually _watch_ Acatl’s cock twitch. He dug his fingers into the meat of Teomitl’s thigh for a moment, eyes narrowed. When he spoke, the firm edge in his voice set Teomitl’s veins on fire. He normally hated being told what to do, but apparently his body had very different ideas when it was Acatl. “...Give me that jar.”

He sucked in a breath and tossed Acatl the jar; the removal of Acatl’s hands from his skin brought a sudden flicker of nerves, and he muttered, “Thought you said you’d never—oh. _Ooh.”_ The next caress to the inside of his thigh was warm and slick, and the gentle, insistent pressure of a finger sliding down to circle his hole turned his spine to jelly. “Gods, that’s—nnh…” 

Acatl was watching his face, eyes dark and hungry, and Teomitl didn’t even try to stifle the moan that slipped out when he pressed that finger in slowly. “I do have hands. And I did not spend _all_ my nights alone _working.”_ His words brought the flash of an idea Teomitl didn’t have the freedom to fix in his head, because he’d toyed with himself before but it had been nothing like this. He rolled his hips, trembling, and Acatl shifted the angle of his hand to match his pace.

Then Acatl surged forward, letting Teomitl hike his own hips up and lock an ankle around his waist to keep that incredible hand where it was, and as he mouthed at his collarbone he hit a spot that made Teomitl see stars. “Oh, that is—yes,  _there_ —“ The part of his brain still capable of thought mused  _Well, he definitely knows what he’s doing here,_ but it was rapidly being eclipsed by the part that was focused solely on the waves of pleasure cresting with each movement of Acatl’s hand. Desperate for something to hang onto, he buried a hand in Acatl’s hair again and tugged roughly.  _“More.”_

Acatl drew up just far enough to meet Teomitl’s eyes. “Tell me if it’s too much,” he breathed, and slid a second finger in. 

Teomitl, who had been about to say it was unlikely Acatl could ever give him  _too much,_ found himself left breathless by the stretch. This was more than he’d ever tried before, and it burned until he shut his eyes and forced himself to  relax.  Then Acatl was curling his fingers, and he nearly sobbed at the skittering rush of heat down his spine. “Oh  _fuck.”_ A moment later Acatl was working him open in earnest, and he found himself letting out little keening cries at each stroke inward. 

Acatl’s voice sounded rough in his ear. “Teomitl—gods, you feel so  _hot.”_

_Wait until it’s your cock in me_ , he wanted to say, but it was becoming difficult to form the words. Instead he leaned up, shuddering at the new angle of Acatl’s fingers in him, and took a long, hungry kiss. When Acatl’s fingers slid over that spot again, he moaned into his mouth and reveled in the answering growl. 

When they broke the kiss, Acatl whispered, “I want—is this enough—“

“ _Yes.”_ _Gods, yes. Always yes._ It might wreck him, but that was fine. He wanted to be wrecked.

And then Acatl was sliding in, and Teomitl thought the hour of his destruction had come. Acatl’s cock was splitting him open, slow and careful and absolutely, totally inexorable. He’d never been stretched so wide, never had anything that deep, and for a heartstopping moment all he could think was that he was  _so full._ As Acatl entered him, he drew his nails hard down his spine and was rewarded with a breathless moan he barely noticed, because all he could do was breathe and shudder around the welcome intrusion. By the time Acatl’s hips came to rest flush against him, his legs were trembling.

Acatl was steady as a rock above him, inside him—but his eyes were closed, and the hand he’d used to brace himself was curled into a white-knuckled fist. His voice shook as he breathed, “Is this...alright? Like this? _”_

Carefully he rocked his hips, and was rewarded with a shuddering groan and a slow thrust. His eyes nearly rolled back in his head; he hadn’t thought he could feel fuller, but Acatl had effortlessly proven him wrong.  _“Move,_ Acatl.” Another thrust, and Acatl’s breath hitched as he flexed his thighs around his waist. It was good—gods, was it good—but it wasn’t enough. He dug his nails into Acatl’s shoulderblade and tilted his head to rasp in his ear. “Fuck me.”

His lover breathed. In, out, in again.

And then he snapped his hips forward, and Teomitl nearly screamed. All thought vanished; all he could do was move into Acatl’s thrusts as he set exactly the pace he’d been praying for—hard, fast, relentless. He’d twined locks of Acatl’s hair through his fingers and knew he had to be pulling hard, but Acatl didn’t appear to notice; he was breathing hard, shifting his weight to keep Teomitl steady as they worked to find a rhythm. That took a moment, inexperienced as they were, but then Teomitl arched and Acatl rocked forward and the assault on his senses made his entire body jolt.  _Oh gods, he_ is _going to wreck me._

“ _Acatl—!“_ Having found the proper angle, Acatl was doing it again. And _again._ Teomitl found he couldn’t speak, reduced to incoherence as the pressure built. He mouthed roughly at Acatl’s throat instead, hard enough to bruise. He hoped it did bruise, hoped savagely that Acatl too would have marks he couldn’t hide later.

Acatl shuddered, twitching deep within him. “Not—not going to last—“ He sounded desperate, despairing; Teomitl wanted to tell him it was alright, they had time, but his hand had a better idea and reached down to wrap around his own cock instead.

_Want to know how it feels to come on your cock,_ he thought dizzily.  _I want to—_ But then Acatl’s hand was there too, stroking roughly and firmly, and all he could do was buck frantically into it. “Acatl-tzin—gods, I’m...”

“ _Teomitl.”_

His name on Acatl’s lips was a snarl, possessive as a jaguar claiming prey, and Teomitl came so hard his vision blurred. He might have screamed if his voice hadn’t cracked partway through; as it was, he managed only a slightly strangled cry. His entire world was focused on the still-hard cock within him, Acatl pounding into him as he spasmed—then Acatl was coming too, and Teomitl nearly sobbed when he felt him spill himself deep. His mind was blank. It was all _so much._

Acatl dropped his head into the crook of his neck, breathing hard. For a long moment they simply lay together, racing hearts slowly returning to normal. He smoothed a hand down Acatl’s back and felt him smile against his skin, voice hushed as he murmured, “Gods...Teomitl.  _Teomitl._ That was...”

Teomitl made a noise he hoped sounded affirmative. Acatl was still buried inside him; when he pulled out, it sent such a rush through his overstimulated system he almost came again. 

Acatl pressed a kiss to his jaw. “Mm. I’ll be right back; I just want to clean us up.”

“Nnngh…” At any other time, his own needy whine would have disgusted him, but now Acatl was pulling away. Though he kept his promise—he was right back, with a damp cloth and gentle hands—it still didn’t feel _right_ until Acatl was curled loosely around him, holding him close and letting him nestle into his chest. The thought came slow and sure as the dawn. _I love_ _him_ _. I should tell_ _him_ _._

He opened his mouth to say just that, but stopped himself when he heard Acatl make a dissatisfied little grumbling noise. “Hrm. For your sake,” Acatl breathed in his ear, “I hope my sister isn’t that fond of you. If this breaks her heart—“

 _Ah. Of course Acatl wouldn’t have forgotten about that._ He grimaced at the ceiling, taking comfort from Acatl’s heartbeat in his ear. “It will not. She, ah…”

“Hm?” It held a definite edge that suggested the wrong answer would not bode well for future entanglements.

He buried his face in Acatl’s chest, knowing it did nothing to hide his crimson flush. “...She is...very observant. She seemed rather more worried that I would break yours—which I will _never_ do.” When Acatl had left them unsupervised for a moment, there had been a very graphic hand gesture illustrating what would happen if he did.

Acatl was quiet for a moment, thinking it over—and then he tilted Teomitl’s head up with a gentle touch and pressed a kiss to his lips that warmed him to his bones. “Mmm. I trust you.”

The only possible response to that was to kiss him back.

_Duality,_ _I love you._ There wasn’t time to say it properly now—surely they’d be looking for Acatl at the temple any minute, and every lazy caress down his ribs felt sweetly stolen—but he knew he’d be back later. There was still more they hadn’t done.

**Author's Note:**

> this is FULLY Bleed_Peroxide's fault, because she prompted me on twitter to post a fake WIP line & i uh....failed step one by about a thousand times. w h o o p s. want to also prompt me? my [twitter](https://twitter.com/ship_to_hell/) is here, and you can find me on [tumblr](https://notapaladin.tumblr.com/)!


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